


"i just care that he is."

by ceremoany



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, here [hands over my heart] take it god dammit, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceremoany/pseuds/ceremoany
Summary: Nesta writes a messily written poem about Cassian one morning.Heavily influenced by Halsey’s old poems about Matty Healy.





	"i just care that he is."

He doesn’t like to be soft. He likes to tear the fibers of pink tissue in shreds from my lips with his teeth. He marks my neck the same way. Galaxies bloom on my skin and he says its fitting because I am his universe. We dissolve into each other without looking up for days at a time. We laugh loudly and kiss loudly and moan loudly. He throws his hands in the air like a God and leans his head back. He mouths vulgar things in front of our friends that make giggles pour out of me like a shaken champagne bottle. I run my finger along the seam of his black pants beneath the table. He rolls his eyes and smirks at me. We take every single opportunity to touch, to feel, to absorb one another, so private and yet so public. It’s one of our many secrets. We play like children, tousling hair and tickling and climbing all over each other. We drink glass after glass of wine and talk rapidly and vigorously and trip over each others sentences like cracks in the things we break when we’re mad. We get drunk off the wine and each other and skin and the things we love. He says “us” like it means “amen” and he looks at me like I’m a saint he’s been praying to his whole life. He holds the lazarus of my body and gives thanks for the way that it holds back. He absorbs my bad days. His smile erupts across his face and I think its capable of charming the feathers off a bird mid-flight. He braids my hair and tickles my face with my ends while my head is in his lap. A glint of silver is growing up the side of his hairline. He says its from me being a pain but he also thinks it makes him look distinguished so he’ll let it slide. I laugh and agree with him. He loves to be so much older than me. He thinks it makes him all the wiser. I prove him wrong whenever I can. We spend a lot of time in his house with the doors shut. We spend a lot of time outside of his house with our mouths shut. Nobody understands the way our souls dance together and we like it that way. They look at us with questioning eyes and huff at our inconvenient kisses and quips. He cries and mourns and I let myself become his distraction. I destroy and disappear and he finds me and puts me back together. He thinks I like him taking control during sex and I don’t argue. I always wake up later than him but sometimes I look at the stars before I drift off and ask for that to be different. When my wishes are answered I sit on the bed with my legs crossed like a child by the tree on christmas morning and watch him sleep for as long as I can. He is so vulnerable and quiet. Soft face. Soft sounds. I drink a cup of tea while rose colored light caresses him through the window. We bond over our darkness. We fight over who gets the last candy at the bottom of the confectionery bag. We tease, oh we tease. He likes clean clothes and messy hair and he runs his hands under the backs of my thighs with a tigers grin. He writes my name in the fog on the shower door from where he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pressed my face against the glass. I kiss his scars and tell him that he is beautiful. He likes symphonies and I make up lyrics to whisper in his ear during the show. He hums the melodies all the way home and begs me to sing to him. I drag my fingers across his chest like a sea dragon swimming where the water kisses the sunlight and undo his straps and buttons one by one. I toss my head back and laugh loudly and pout my lips when he won’t be fair. He calls me a brat and I call him a brute. He speaks like a priest and trips over his words, his tongue struggling to meet that brilliant mind. That’s how a prodigy thinks. He knows when my thoughts are about him and he lets it all go to his head and I don’t care because I love to watch him love himself. We laugh and touch and play and plot and write stories we want to tell our children. He says he wants a daughter with her mothers ferocity. I say I want a son with his fathers heart. We never say goodbye and we never worry. He has given me this next lifetime. He is my constant. An ever present force that holds me in place. I don’t care what he is or what he has done before my existence loomed on the horizon. I just care that he is.


End file.
